


If I Only Had the Heart

by countingpaperstars



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Assistant Gladio, Banter, Book Editor Ignis, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Engagement, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Family Feels, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Immigration & Emigration, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Mutual Pining, Weird Uncle Ardyn, gladio warms his heart :'), ignis is kind of prickly to start but for good reason, slight angst, small town knows everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-07-03 02:19:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15809322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countingpaperstars/pseuds/countingpaperstars
Summary: Faced with deportation to his home in Tenebrae, high-powered book editor Ignis Scientia says he's engaged to marry Gladiolus Amicitia, his hapless assistant. Gladio agrees to the charade, but imposes a few conditions of his own, including traveling to Cape Caem to meet his eccentric family. With a suspicious immigration official always lurking nearby, Ignis and Gladio must stick to their wedding plan despite numerous mishaps and the feelings that threaten to grow between them.Or, The Proposal AU no one asked for.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I am so excited to write this you have no idea!! I'm a few days late but this year's gladnis week (day four: fake dating) pushed me to kickstart this wip that's been sitting in the back of my head since spring. A lot of the dialogue in the first few chapters will be straight from the movie - no worries if you haven't seen it - but I've adapted it for the new characters and situation and as we go it should have more room to branch out into its own thing! I really hope you like it <3
> 
> Title is from the song with the same name by The Maine.
> 
> Enjoy~

Gladio wakes up peacefully to golden sunlight in stripes across his sheets - which is his first clue that the day is going to be absolutely horrible. He realizes it slowly, a gradual transition from snuggling further into his blankets to squinting in confusion at the red 12:00 blinking on his alarm clock. Heart skipping a beat, he reaches for his watch laid out on the nightstand.

“Shit!” 

He launches from the bed, scrambling for his pants and button up. There’s no time for a shower; instead he attempts to brush the knots from his hair before giving up and throwing it into a half bun.

Insomnia has been long awake by the time he hits the streets, choked with people and cars alike in crowds that never seem to lessen. He manages to weave through, knotting his tie while balancing his bag and jacket in a familiar dance. Hammerhead is thankfully just around the corner from his office building, the coffee shop already packed with a full line of caffeine-hungry people, both those on their way to work as well as those just off the clock. 

“Gladio, hey!” The woman behind the counter waves him over. He mutters apologies left and right as he squeezes past, painfully aware of the dirty looks the other customers give him, but in too much of a rush to acknowledge them.

“There ya are sugar. Was afraid you’d gone and gotten yourself fired,” says Cindy with a shake of her messy blonde curls. “Your regulars.” She holds out two cups, fully prepped and warm against his palms as he hands over the cash. 

Relief floods his veins and he must be obvious about it if the glinting satisfaction in her eyes and her tilted smirk say anything about it. “Saved my life,” he calls, already heading back out the door. “I owe you big time. Thank you!”

Dodging and weaving through the stopped traffic comes second nature and he slips past cabs and drivers who lean on their horns before ducking into his building. He manages to snag an elevator at the last second, throwing out an arm and squeezing into the space between several other disgruntled employees.

“Cuttin’ it close,” says Crowe, already cradling the front desk phone against her shoulder and dialing a rapid fire number. The office swarms with people going about their business and Gladio meshes into the flow as he passing her.

“One of those mornings,” he says, shooting her a look. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

When he turns back around he barrels straight a mail employee and their cart, hot coffee exploding all over his skin and shirt. The man apologizes profusely as he moves out of the way and Gladio bites the curses threatening to roll off his tongue, apologizing and ducking his head as he beelines for a cubicle near the far end.

“I need the shirt off your back. Literally.”

Nyx takes in the stain of damp coffee against on his white button up, expression morphing into delighted amusement. He stretches his arms, lounging back in his chair with a sharp grin. “Looks like someone’s had a rough start to their day.”

Gladio rolls his eyes. Normally he’d be up for their morning banter, but time is ticking and the approach of his doom is imminent. “Traveling Totomostro, lower East district, this Tuesday. Two company seats for your shirt. You have five seconds to decide.”

“Easy,” says Nyx, holding up placating hands. “I would’ve done it for free, but you bet your ass I’ll take those tickets now.”

“Five. Four-”

Libertus pops up over the divider, folding his arms against the top. “You’d better be taking me-”

“Three. Two-”

“It’s not _your_ suit being sacrificed-”

“One.”

* * *

When Ignis Scientia arrives, the offices scrambles to work. A notification ripples down the line of desks, sounding the alarm as magazines are stuffed away and hurried phone calls are made. People rush to their seats, food brushed aside in favor of spreadsheets pulled over social media. The warm sunlit room drops ten degrees as the man himself strolls in, gaze pinpoint sharp as employees scurry out of his path. His posture is impeccably straight, hair slicked up in its usual pristine style, and suit not a fraction out of place - fiercely ethereal, frigid and distant.

In an office with windows overlooking the bustle of Insomnia’s business district, Gladio straightens his tie one last time. His heart thunders in his chest, the close call setting his teeth on edge, but he slips into his business countenance and grabs the sole surviving coffee cup as Ignis walks into the room. 

“Morning boss. You have a conference call in 30 minutes.”

“Yes,” says Ignis, his accent every bit as prim and proper as he is. He accepts the cup of coffee from Gladio’s outstretched hand as he rounds his desk. “About the marketing of the spring books. I know.”

“Staff meeting at nine.”

“Did you call…” He sighs, gesturing with his cup. “What's her name? The one with the frogs.”

“Sania?”

“Yes, Sania.”

“I did. I told her that if she doesn't get her manuscript in on time you won't give her a release date,” says Gladio, shuffling a couple thick manuscripts across the desk for Ignis to organize and picking up a few folders. “Also your immigration lawyer called. He said it's imperative-”

“Cancel the call, push the meeting to tomorrow, and keep the lawyer on the sheets.” Ignis doesn’t glance up once, barreling through. Gladio raises his eyebrows, but he knows better than to disagree. “Get ahold of PR, have them start drafting a press release - Navyth is going on Dino Ghiranze’s show.”

“Wow,” says Gladio, pausing. “Nicely done.”

“If I want your praise, I will ask for it.”

It’s as much a dismissal as anything, and as Ignis grabs his cup and spins in his chair to stare at his monitor Gladio makes a break for the door, eager to escape unscathed.

“Um,” Ignis says pointedly, and he grinds to a halt. “Who is Cindy? And why does she want me to ‘call her’?” 

Embarrassed dread settles in his chest as Ignis rotates the cup to display the bubbly numbers of her number, gaze behind his glasses piercing through him. “Well, that was originally my cup."

“And I'm drinking your coffee why?”

Gladio shifts uneasily. “Because your coffee spilled.”

Humming thoughtfully, Ignis takes a light sip from the cup. “So, you drink unsweetened Ebony brew with an extra double shot?”

“I do,” says Gladio. “It wakes me up.” Sharp amusement glimmers in Ignis’ eyes, making him want to duck his head and shuffle his feet sheepishly like when he was a boy. He holds his head high.

“Is that a coincidence?”

“Incredibly, it is. I wouldn't drink the same coffee that you drink just in case yours spilled.” Gladio scoffs in his false confidence and nearly cries in relief when the phone rings. “That would be pathetic,” he mutters and lifts the receiver, slipping into his business voice. “Morning, Scientia's office. Hey, Luche.”

Ignis gestures with his free hand and Gladio furrows his brow. “Actually, we're headed to your office right now. Yeah, okay.” He hangs up. “Why are we headed to Luche's office?”

Without a glance, Ignis returns to shuffling the stacks of books and papers and envelopes on his desk into neat order. It’s not much of an answer and Gladio sighs before making his way out to his own cubicle across the way.

He hurriedly pulls up the office chat and types out another warning into the box, listening to everyone’s monitors ding. The frantic rush to straighten ripples through the room, conversations quieting and people hunching over their desks as Ignis leaves his office, striding down the hallway, coffee in hand.

“Have you finished the manuscript I gave you?” Gladio asks when he pulls up alongside him.

Ignis grimaces. “I read a few pages. I wasn't impressed.”

“Can I say something?”

“No.”

“I've read _thousands_ of manuscripts and this is the only one I've given you," says Gladio, mustering his resolve. As hard as the day has made him fight for his morning, he's unwilling to budge an inch on this. “There's an incredible story in there. The kind of novel you used to publish.”

What he doesn’t say is how once he’d finished the draft he’d cried, late night witching hour amplifying the poignancy of the very emotions and message he’d related to; doesn’t mention the haze that had settled over his shoulders for weeks afterwards, lingering like the taste of a fine wine. This novel - while perhaps in need of a good polish - was a story he knew many others out there may want, may need, and he’ll be damned to give up on it.

And he isn’t lying - it really is the type of story that reminds him of those Ignis used to foster and push out into the world. That was one of the reasons Gladio was so determined to work for him first place.

“Wrong,” says Ignis, and as they pass Nyx’s desk his gaze catches on the dried coffee stain. “And I do believe you order the same coffee as I do in case you spill, which is, as you so helpfully described, pathetic.”

“Or impressive.”

“I'd be impressed if you didn't spill in the first place.” Ignis gestures to the glass door to Luche’s office. “Remember, you're a prop.”

“Won't say a word.”

Gladio holds the door open for Ignis and gives Luche a nod when the lean man looks up from where he’s stood over his desk. “Our fearless leader and his liege,” he drawls with a grin. “Please come in.”

The room is tastefully decorated, a few paintings along the wall in between sleek furniture, and Ignis surveys it all with a small, polite smile before turning to a cabinet along the back wall. “Beautiful breakfront. Is it new?”

“It is Tenebrian Second Revival, built in the M.E. 110s but, yes, it is new to my office.".

“Witty,” says Ignis under his breath. He turns back, not a single crack in his expression. “Luche, I'm letting you go.”

Stunned silence settles over the room as Luche looks up from his desk, eyebrows high to his hairline. His gaze shifts from Ignis to Gladio and back to Ignis and his grin fades. “Pardon?”

“I asked you a dozen times to get Navyth to do Dino Ghiranze, and you didn't do it. You're fired,” says Ignis and Gladio awkwardly moves to close the door so no one in the hall will overhear.

“I’ve told you that’s impossible.” Luche recovers a shakier version of his smile, condescending at the edges as he says, “Navyth hasn't done an interview in 20 years.”

Gladio attempts his best impression of wallpaper, arms crossed and chin in his hand as the tension grows unbearable. He sends a plea up to whatever astral may hear him that his downward spiral of a day ends here.

“That is _interesting_ ,” says Ignis, “because, unless my memory is failing me, during our phone call this morning he said he’s in.”

“Excuse me?”

“You didn't even call him, did you?”

Luche looks to Gladio again in disbelief, but he has no lifeline to offer. “But-”

“I know, I know. Navyth can be a little scary to deal with. For you,” says Ignis, patronizingly as he picks up a book from the corner of the desk, skimming the cover. “Now, I will give you two months to find another job and then you can tell everyone you resigned, all right?” Without another word, Ignis passes the book to Gladio and leaves the room. 

“What's his twenty?” he asks under his breath as they head back past the cubicles.

Gladio twists to catch a glimpse through the glass door, wincing at Luche’s frantic pacing. “He's moving. He has crazy eyes.”

“Don't do it, Luche.” Ignis sighs as the door clicks.

“You poisonous bitch!”

A round of gasps goes up in the office as Luche storms from his office, vibrating with anger as he jabs a finger at Ignis. “You can't fire me!”

Gladio sits on the edge of Nyx’s desk, crossing his arms as they watch the spectacle. He wonders faintly if resigning to a day off in bed wouldn't have been the better option. Ever the calm in the middle of a tempest, Ignis faces his accuser head on, casually sipping at his coffee.

“You don't think I see what you're doing here? Sandbagging me on this Dino thing so that you can look good to the board? Because you are threatened by me!” Luche shouts. “And you are a monster!”

Several people peek over the tops of their cubicles, eyes wide as Ignis laughs, smirk tucked in the corner of his lips never budging. “Luche, stop.”

“Just because you have no semblance of a life outside of this office you think that you can treat all of us like your own personal slaves,” he steamrolls. “You know what? I feel sorry for you, because you know what you're gonna have on your deathbed? Nothing and no one.”

Gladio winces, pressing his lips together tightly in disapproval. The whispers rise in a wave, hushing as they wait for the rebuttal.

Stepping forward, Ignis’ expression slips only for the slightest millisecond before he recovers. “Listen carefully, Luche. I didn't fire you because I feel threatened,” he says. “No, I fired you because you're lazy, entitled, incompetent, and you spend more time cheating on your wife than you do in your office, and if you say another word Gladio here is going to have you thrown out, all right?”

He cuts Luche off as he opens his mouth again. “Another _word_ and you're going out of here with an armed escort. Gladio will film it with his camera phone and he'll put it on that Internet site. What was it?”

Gladio meets his glance. “YouTube?”

“Exactly. Is that what you want?” Ignis stares Luche down, nodding when he remains silent despite his murderous gaze. “Didn't think so. I have work to do.”

Ignis pivots on his heel and Gladio follows, titters rising behind them in wake of the confrontation. Luche doesn’t follow.

“Have security take his breakfront and put it in my conference room,” Ignis says, and Gladio sucks in a breath, trying to keep up with the whiplash.

“Will do.”

“I need you this weekend to help review his files and his manuscript.”

Gladio stops in his tracks. “This weekend?”

“You have a problem with that?”

“No, no I - it’s just, it’s my great uncle’s birthday, so I was gonna go home to Caem and…” He trails off, Ignis already slipping into his office without another word. “It's fine. I'll cancel it. You're saving me from a weekend of misery, so it's…” He sighs. “Good talk, yeah.”

* * *

The day passes without anymore fanfare and after plowing through half his pile of stacked up work, Gladio manages to work up the courage to place a quick call home.

“I know, I know. Tell him I'm sorry, okay? What…” He sighs deeply. “Regis. What do you want me to tell you? He's making me work the weekend. No, I'm not... no.”

He listens distractedly as they go through the motions of a scripted conversation they’ve had over and over before, and he struggles to keep his voice low. “I've worked too hard for this promotion to throw it all away. I'm sure that Dad _is_ pissed, but -” He spies Ignis approaching out of the corner of his eye and continues without missing a beat, “we take all of our submissions around here seriously. We'll get back to you as soon as we can.” 

He hangs up and stares at the phone as Ignis hovers over him, hand on his hip. “Was that your family?”

“Yes."

“They tell you to quit?”

“Every single day.” 

The phone cuts off Ignis' reply, but he doesn't budge as Gladio answers it. “Scientia's office. Yeah, okay.” He hangs up. “Leonis and Drautos want to see you upstairs.”

Ignis huffs a short, frustrated noise and pinches the bridge of his nose. “All right. Come get me in ten minutes. We've got a lot to do.”

“Sure thing.”

The phone rings again, and Gladio leans back in his chair, flashing a glare at Ignis’ retreating back as he answers it. He spends the rest of the his time trying not to seethe. It’s been so long since he’s last seen his family and as much as he hates having to choose between them and his career, it’s impossible not to when Ignis demands he put everything on the line. 

Ten minutes go by before he knows it, numbers switching on his computer clock as he makes his way up to the big boss’ office. He waves to the secretary and flashes her a disarming smile before knocking on the door, opening it before he gets a response.

“There is no way, I am begging you-” Ignis is saying.

“No," says Drautos. "Excuse me, we're in a meeting.”

Leaning into the office without crossing over the threshold, Gladio says, “Sorry to interrupt.”

“What!” says Ignis, uncharacteristically ruffled, but Gladio continues on as he was instructed to do.

“Dave from the Meldacio office called. He's on the line.”

Ignis sighs. “I know.”

“I told him you were otherwise engaged, but he insisted, so…”

He pauses, blinking as Ignis’ gaze sharpens intensely and very unsure of what he said to set it off. He's seen that look many times, when his boss is working out a particularly difficult problem with a client and is ready to forge his way through. 

“So…”

The foreboding cloud that’s followed Gladio around all day descends once more when Ignis gestures for him to come closer. He hesitates, looking between Cor Leonis, sat at his desk with bright, intelligent eyes, and Titus Drautos, who leans against the windowsill with an expression as if someone dumped salt in his morning coffee. His pause earns him a disgruntled frown from Ignis, who mouths _come here_ and smooths his suit when Gladio listens.

“Gentlemen, I understand,” he says. “I understand the predicament that we are in. And uhm…” He glances back at Gladio and gives him a full once over. “And there's, well… I think there's something that you should know.” 

Gladio watches in confusion, hands stuffed in his pockets as Ignis sidles up into his space.

“We’re… we’re getting married,” he says, hand reaching over to pat Gladio on the chest. Gladio’s brain goes entirely offline, mouth dropping slightly open as Ignis pats him once again, harder, until he snaps it shut. “We are getting married.”

“Who?” Gladio ducks his head closer, sure he's mistaken. “Who is getting...?”

“You and I. You and I are getting married.” The wide, bright smile on his face makes Gladio wonder if he’s standing next to a complete stranger. This is not the Ignis Scientia he knows and loathes. 

“We are…” 

“Getting married. Yes.”

And that’s when Gladio knows no astral above is smiling down on him and his absolutely horrible day takes a turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladio is in deep trouble now ahaha. Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear what you think down below <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/countpaperstars) | [writing blog](http://countingpaperstars.tumblr.com) | [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never in a million years did Ignis foresee it being the day he got engaged. It's all that damn Luche's fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait, I forgot to mention that this one will be updating a little slower than my other fics for a while. I think I'll be able to pick it up more in the new year! Regardless, I won't abandon this, it's too much fun to write! I hope you enjoy~

Ignis’ day starts like any other, with his morning routine kicking off before the sun has cracked the eastern horizon of Insomnia’s skyline. He shifts into a deeper stretch, legs folded on the carpet of his spacious living room, and flicks over a page on his current manuscript. The thick stack of papers slides along the floor in a parchment sundial as he goes through the motions.

It’s quiet and peaceful, just the way he likes as he sinks fully into his tasks and centers both body and mind in blissful balance. If there’s any specific time of day Ignis would say is his favorite it’s in the still mornings, balanced on the teetering edge between night and day. It’s here he can fully be himself.

When he showers, it’s brisk and perfunctory as he runs through his to do list. His hazy reflection greets him in the mirror, features revealed in broad swipes of his hand to clear the fog. The skin beneath his eyes is shadowed and thin and Ignis pulls at it with a sigh. Not much to be done for that. He rubs moisturizer neatly across his skin, taking time to smooth over the rise of his brows and cheeks.

He’s fairly handsome in his own eyes, though it hardly matters. There are more important things to address than his relative attractiveness - like his career - and hardly anyone dares delve past the surface these days anyway.

It’s a task all its own to style his hair the way he likes, crisp and neat, and by the time he’s dressed in a pressed suit the sun spills over the window sills in golden pools. Outside, Upper East Park has awoken in a rush of life, people weaving through the colored trees on bike and foot as birds sing in the branches. Ignis pays no mind to the view, huddled over his kitchen counter to read as he works through a bowl of oatmeal.

A perfectly normal morning.

The shops along the road are bustling with the morning rush as he takes his route to work and he can’t help but grin in satisfaction when his phone lights up with a familiar name.

“Hello Navyth, how’s my favorite writer?”

He steps over a curb, weaving through the foot traffic with practiced ease.

“Of course you've been thinking about our talk, because you know I'm right. People in this country are busy, broke, and hate to read,” he says, eyeing the crowd around him with a raised brow. “They need someone to say, ‘Don't watch CSl: Lestallum tonight. Read a book! Read Navyth's book’, and that person is Dino.”

Indecision cakes thick over the phone as Navyth hesitates on the precipice. 

Ignis launches a different tack. “Listen, the truth is all A-plus novelists do publicity. Dorden, Yeagre, and... Can I tell you what else they have in common?” A grin pulls at his lips as he places down his trump card. “A _Somnus_ Award.”

By the time he reaches the office, he’s officially sealed the deal and rides the waves of his good fortune throughout his morning despite the few hiccups along the way - namely a roadbump by the name of Luche Lazarus and Ignis’ own bumbling assistant Gladio - which is why when he’s called down to his boss’ office, he thinks nothing of it.

“Good morning, Mister Scientia,” says the receptionist, but he hardly hears, striding right past them through the large oak doors without a blink.

Sunlight reflects golden off the wood accents along the row of corner windows, leaving the office bright and inviting. Cor Leonis sits behind a sleek desk flipping over a paper, but he looks up at the click of the door. Behind him, Drautos leans against the low window shelves, eyes dark and analyzing as he gives Ignis a once over.

The door shuts behind him and Ignis adjusts a cuff with smooth assuredness. “Cor, Titus.”

“Ignis,” says Cor, shifting forward in his chair. “Congratulations on the Dino thing. That’s terrific news.”

“Thank you,” says Ignis, lips twitching at the corners. With no small amount of pride bubbling in his chest, he walks leisurely up to the desk, shoulders relaxed and a hand tucked into his pocket. “This wouldn’t happen to be about my second raise, is it?”

They chuckle together good naturedly, but beneath the jest he’s fully serious.

Cor leans forward to pick up a sheet of paper. “Ignis, do you remember when we agreed you wouldn’t go to the Altissian Book Fair because you weren’t allowed out of the country while your visa application was being processed?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And… you went to Altissia.”

“Yes, I did. We were going to lose Claustra to Magitek.” Ignis gestures with a self assured smile. “I had no other option, did I?”

“Well, it seems the Lucis Monarchy doesn’t care much who publishes Camelia Claustra.”

Drautos leans forward, expression inscrutable. “We just spoke to your immigration attorney.”

“Wonderful. All sorted then?”

Cor sighs and skims over the paper once again. “Ignis, your visa application has been denied and you are being deported.”

Shock is an unfamiliar visitor, settling low in Ignis’ stomach to smother the rising panic. “ _Deported?_ ” he repeats, each syllable falling from his mouth like jagged rocks.

“Apparently there was also some paperwork you didn’t fill out in time.”

Ignis scrambles for the threads of control slipping through his fingers. “Oh please, it’s not as if I’m even an immigrant!” he jokes drily. “I’m from _Tenebrae_ , for astrals’ sake. There must be something we can do.”

“We can reapply,” says Drautos, “but unfortunately you have to leave the country for at least a year.”

The threads slip further out of reach.

“All right,” says Ignis and brings his hand to his lips, mind racing through the possibilities. “That’s not ideal, but I can… manage everything from Fenestala…”

“No.”

“...with video conferencing, Internet…”

“Unfortunately, Ignis, if you're deported you can't work for a Lucian company,” says Drautos, tugging the rug right out from under his feet.

Cor sets the paper down and folds his hands on top of it. “Until this is resolved I'm going to turn operations over to Luche Lazarus.”

“ _Luche Lazarus_?” asks Ignis, brittle and sharp. He feels stuck, floating rudderless in circles and floundering for ground. “The man I just fired?”

“We need an editor in chief and he is the only person in the building who has enough experience.”

“You cannot be serious, I beg of you.”

“Ignis,” says Cor, leaning forward with a tone of finality. Earnest sympathy blooms in his eyes and Ignis comes to the realization of just how much everything has fallen apart. “We are desperate to have you stay. If there was any way at all we could make this work, we’d be doing it.”

Half formed protests fall from Ignis’ lips, scattered in a way he resolved never to be. Everything he’s worked so hard to build threatens to crumble before his eyes as he seeks any possible way to save it.

And then the very solution knocks on the door.

“We’re getting married.”

“Who?” Gladio ducks his head closer. “Who is getting…?”

“You and I,” says Ignis, forcing his face into what he hopes comes across as a blissful smile. He pats Gladio on the chest proudly. “You and I are getting married.”

“We are…”

“Getting married, yes.”

The weight of Cor’s stare presses all the air from Ignis’ lungs, but he stands tall and forces his limbs to relax. Gladio has gone completely still beside him, his racing thoughts nearly palpable in the air. Ignis prays to whatever astral above is listening that he gets the hint.

Drautos uncrosses his arms, smug and goading. “Isn’t he your secretary?”

“Assistant,” says Gladio.

“Executive… assistant secretary. Titles,” says Ignis with a dismissive wave. His grin turns sharp. “Wouldn’t be the first time one of us fell for our secretaries, would it Titus?”

Drautos’ face hardens, eyebrows pulling down in a dark line, as Cor’s eyes flicker. The corner of his mouth twitches up in amusement and Ignis counts it as a win.

“The truth is,” he says, dusting off the vague stories of romance in his mind. “Gladiolus and I… We are merely two people who weren't meant to fall in love, but we did.”

“No,” says Gladio, voice soft in disbelief as he shakes his head.

Ignis ignores him. “All those late nights at the office and weekend book fairs-”

“No.”

“-something happened, and…”

Ignis smiles stiffly, meeting Gladio’s gaze head on when he repeats, “ _Something.”_

Their audience looks on in interest, Cor watching them keenly as Drautos attempts to pierce through Ignis’ very being with his eyes. He falters for a moment, but when he thinks of leaving everything he’s ever worked for behind he carries on.

“We tried to resist it, but… you can’t fight a love like ours,” he says, wrapping an arm about Gladio’s shoulders. They’re broad beneath his reach and when Ignis turns to look at him their cheeks brush. He pulls away as quickly as he can without snatching his arm back, heat threatening to pool beneath his cheeks. “Everything settled then? Are you happy? Because, we are. Happy, that is. Very happy.”

Gladio goes to cross his arms before changing directions to stuff his hands in his pockets. In the end, they fall limp at his sides, bewilderment in his eyes even as he smiles.

“Ignis,” says Cor.

“Yes?”

“It’s terrific,” he says and Ignis schools his surprise. There’s a gleam in Cor’s eye he isn’t sure what to make of. He holds up his left hand, tapping his ring finger. “Just make it legal.” 

“Oh! Correct, yes. Well then, we’ll hurry ourselves over to the immigration office so we can straighten this whole mess out,” says Ignis, patting Gladio once more on the chest. “Thank you very much, gentlemen. We will do that right away.”

He nods his head in deference and backs up slowly to the door. Gladio follows in suit, bidding his own goodbyes and trailing behind Ignis past the cubicles. The office is abuzz with mild chatter, but Ignis pays no mind, holding his head as tall and gliding through without a spare glance. His desk is a welcome oasis in a sea of brewing storm clouds and Ignis does his best to tune out the blood rushing in his ears and focus on the straightforward task of his next manuscript victim. 

It’s then he risks a glance up, finding Gladio standing stock still with his hand steadied on the chair. He stares unflinchingly and Ignis sighs.

“What?”

“I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“Relax, this is for you too.” The rubber bands stretched taut around the thick stack of papers twang as he frees them and he takes a moment to tap it into uniform.

Gladio’s thick eyebrows shoot up to his neat hairline. “Oh? Do explain.”

“They were planning to make Luche chief,” says Ignis, picking up a needle-sharp pencil and scribbling down a heavy mark.

“So naturally, I’d have to marry you.”

“I don’t understand what the problem is. You aren’t saving yourself for someone special, are you?”

“Well, I like to think I am,” says Gladio, “and besides, it’s _illegal_.”

“They’re searching for terrorists, not book publishers.”

“Ignis.”

“Yes?” He tears his eyes from the first page he’s reread twice now at Gladio’s firm tone. The golden brown of his eyes is like warm honey and Ignis focuses on the deep line of his brow to avoid getting stuck in them.

“I’m not going to marry you.”

The chair squeaks when Ignis leans forward, placing his pencil back in the holder with a pointed clatter and folding his hands. “Of course you are,” he says, “because if you don’t, your dreams of touching the lives of millions with the written word are dead.”

Gladio’s frown deepens, jaw clicking.

“Luche will terminate you the second I’m gone. Guaranteed. Which puts you out on the street searching for a job, meaning all the time we spent together - the Ebony, the cancelled dates, the midnight take out runs - were all for naught and all your dreams of being an editor are gone.”

It’s the truth and they both know it, the stark reality reflecting in Gladio’s frozen gaze. If Ignis is going to get through this, they both need to be on board.

“Don’t worry,” he reassures. “After the required allotment of time, we’ll file a quick divorce and you’ll be done with me, but until then, like it or not, your wagon is hitched to mine. All right?”

A shrill ring goes off outside the office and Ignis points at Gladio’s desk. “Phone.”

He turns back to his manuscript without another word, eager to get lost in the soothing repetition of marking and revising.

* * *

The room is packed wall to wall when they arrive, people and families of all shapes and sizes sat in rows of chairs and standing in lines. There are a few windows on the outside walls, but the harsh bite of the fluorescents casts everyone in flat yellow. Languages and accents from all over Eos filter through the air in a cloud of white noise and Ignis tucks his elbows in as much as he can to maintain his personal bubble.

It’s horribly public and everything he makes a point to avoid. In and out, he thinks, and weaves through the crowd to the end of the line. 

Barely a minute passes before he peeks his head around the people in front to stare at the line of desks far ahead. At this rate it will take hours. Gladio’s warmth seeps in along his arm and Ignis narrows his eyes. Hours is not an option. With a smooth apology he ducks around the people in front of them and strides to the front.

“Ignis,” Gladio hisses, scrambling after him. “That’s the line.”

When the man behind the desk calls out for the next person, Ignis cuts in between them quickly with another muttered apology over the person’s disgruntled objection.

He passes over his folder, ignoring the raised eyebrows of the worker. “I need for you to file this fiancé visa for me, please.”

The man shakes his head opens the folder to scan the contents. “Mr. Sciencita?”

“Yes.”

He closes the folder and tucks it under his arm. “Please, come with me.”

The room they’re led to has no windows at all, walls done in drab greys that pale in light of the warm wood back at the publishing office. Ignis stands by the door, busying himself on his phone by checking emails and messages. Outside the window in the hall beyond, several other employees sit at their desks answering phones.

Gladio has parked himself in one of the two chairs before the desk, elbows on his knees and hands clasped as he stares at the awards along the wall. “I have a bad feeling about this,” he intones.

A knock at the door jolts Ignis from his browsing and he shuffles out of the way as a short, exasperated man edges through the door. 

“Hi, hello,” he says, brusquely. “I’m Loqi Tummelt and you must be Gladiolus-”

“Gladio-”

“-and Ignis. Sorry for the wait, it’s been a crazy day today.” Loqi brushes by them with a shake of his hair.

“Of course,” says Ignis. “We understand, and I can’t tell you how much we appreciate you seeing us on such short notice.”

Loqi plops down at his desk, flicking open their folder with little fanfare and Ignis catches the sideways glance of concern Gladio shoots him.

“So, I have one question for you,” says Loqi, steepling his hands and leaning far back into his chair. “Are you both committing fraud to avoid Mr. Scientia’s deportation so he can keep his position as editor in chief at Kingsglaive Books?”

All the air sucks out of the room, leaving them floating untethered in tension. Ignis dredges up a curt laugh to smother it.

“That’s ridiculous,” says Gladio.

Ignis shakes his head in disbelief. “Where did you hear that?”

Plucking a sticky note off his desk, Loqi says, “We had a phone tip this afternoon from a man named…”

“Ah,” says Ignis. “Would it be Luche Lazarus?”

“...Luche Lazarus.”

“Poor Luche. I assure you he is nothing but a disgruntled former employee and I apologize, but we know you’re incredibly busy so if you’d only give us our next step, we will be out of your hair and on our way.”

Loqi glances between them with narrow eyes, the skin beneath them dark. He gestures to the empty chair. “Mr. Scientia, please,” he says, and Ignis follows his cue and sits with a huff. “Let me explain to you the process that’s about to unfold.

“Step one will be a scheduled interview. I'll put you each in a room, and I'll ask you every little question that a real couple would know about each other.” The further he leans over his desk, the lower his voice goes, consonants clipped. “Step two, I dig deeper. I look at your phone records, I talk to your neighbors, I interview your co-workers. If your answers don't match up at every point, you,” he points to Ignis, “will be deported indefinitely. And you,” he points to Gladio, “will have committed a felony, punishable by a fine of 250 thousand credits and a stay of five years in prison.”

Outside the office they watch as an officer escorts a yelling man down the hall and in the passing silence Gladio’s throat clicks. 

Loqi settles back into his chair, kicking his heels up onto the surface of his desk. The paperwork crunches and Ignis wrinkles his nose in distaste. “So, Gladio. You wanna talk to me?”

From the corner of his eye Ignis watches him press his lips together and shake his head.

“No?”

Slowly the shake morphs into a nod and Ignis attempts to rind him with a laser point gaze.

Loqi grins. “Yes?”

“The truth is…” Gladio clears his throat. “The truth is… Ignis and I… are just, two people who weren’t supposed to fall in love…” He glances to Ignis, who smiles in satisfaction. “...but we did. We couldn't tell anyone we work with because of my big promotion that I had coming up.”

“Promotion?” Loqi asks.

The question echoes on Ignis’ face, but still he keeps smiling. “Your...?”

“Well, we both felt that it would be deeply inappropriate if I were to be promoted to _editor_ -”

“Ah, editor,” says Ignis, eyes narrowing.

“...while we were…” Gladio gestures vaguely between them.

The look Loqi gives them is as dry as the Cartanica desert. “Have the two of you told your parents about your ‘secret love’?”

“Impossible,” says Ignis with a soft laugh. “My parents are dead. No brothers or sisters either.”

Flicking his eyes to Gladio, Loqi says, “What, and are your parents dead too?”

“No,” says Ignis. “His are very much alive.”

“Very much,” says Gladio.

“We were going to tell them this weekend. It’s his great uncle’s birthday and the whole family's coming together.” When Ignis glances over with what he hopes is fondness, Gladio's eyes are wide. “We thought it'd be a nice surprise.”

“I see, and where is this surprise gonna take place?”

“At Gladio's parents' house.”

Loqi hums thoughtfully and clicks his pen. “And tell me, where is that located again?”

“There I go stealing the spotlight again,” says Ignis and he turns to Gladio expectantly. “Why don’t you tell him where we’re going, darling?”

“Cape Caem.”

“Yes, Cape Caem,” Ignis repeats. He tries to place the name, but he’s unfamiliar with Lucis outside of where they’ve traveled on business. Perhaps it’s some little district in Insomnia? Or one of the smaller cities out in Leide?

“Cleigne.”

“Clei-gne?” Ignis’ eyebrows shoot up but he hides his surprise. The furthest west into Lucis Ignis has been is Lestallum, the quaint little city powered entirely by meteor energy. Beyond that was rugged territory, stretching from the peak of Ravatogh to the swamps of the Vesperpool.

“You’re going to go to Cleigne this weekend?” Loqi asks, skeptically.

“Yes, we are going to Cleigne. That's where… That's where my sweet…” The words stick in his throat uncomfortably and Ignis reaches out to pat Gladio’s shoulder, slipping his hand away when Gladio reaches up to reciprocate. “That's where my Gladiolus is from.”

Loqi stares at them blankly before sighing and folding up all the papers. “Fine. I see how this is going to go,” he says, scrawling across a sticky note. “I will see you both at eleven Monday morning for your scheduled interview and your answers better match up on every account.”

He holds out the note and Gladio stands up to take it. “Thank you.”

“Gonna be fun,” says Loqi and he grins for the first time, teeth glinting like a shark. “I’ll be checking up on you.” Ignis’ stomach twists at that and he’s thankful when his phone rings, heading for the door as he answers the call.

“We’re looking forward to it,” says Gladio and shuts the door behind them with a resounding click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading <3 Have you caught all the ffxv cameos so far? Let me know your thoughts!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio always pictured his engagement going differently, but here he is, flying home with his boss to introduce him to his family as his one true love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love working on this fic, it's so fun! This is the last of the setup chapters that will follow the movie script so closely, though the rest will continue to follow the general plot structure. After this we'll be getting more to the meat of it ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Thanks for sticking with me ♡
> 
> Enjoy~

When Gladio steps from the building and into the sun it feels as though he’s stepped into another universe altogether. All around him Insomnia is unchanged - the smell of street food carrying along the breeze accompanying a shrill siren in the distance. People bustle about their business, unaware of how much one day has turned his life on its head. All it took was a swift current to dislodge him from shore, sweeping him faster through the motions than he could have ever believed. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping the blinking numbers of his alarm clock will be there to greet him when he opens them again.

_“Seriously? Him?”_

Nyx’s short, disbelieving laugh echoes in his mind, same as it had when he trailed Ignis back to his office. The news of their supposed engagement spread faster than a wildfire, a chorus of resounding IM pings heralding the rise of whispers - a sly nod from a recent hire across the room, the disappointed shake of Crowe’s head, heavy stares boring into his back. Gladio dreads returning to the office to face his coworkers’ impending judgement.

He can’t help but wonder if any one of the strangers around them might like to trade places and deal with this mess instead. 

Behind him Ignis hangs up his phone with a snap and they fall in step with one another. “All right, here’s what’s going to happen,” he says. “We’ll go down there, pretend we’re boyfriends, and tell your parents we’re engaged. I suppose I will pop for you to fly first class, but be sure to use the miles for the tickets. Please confirm the vegan meal. Last time they actually gave it to a vegan and they forced me to eat this clammy, warm salad thing which was…” He stops in the middle of the plaza. “Why aren't you taking notes?”

“I'm sorry,” says Gladio, and swings around to face him. “Were you not in that room?”

“What? Oh, what you said about being promoted? Genius! He completely fell for it.”

Gladio stares at him incredulously. “I was serious. I'm looking at a 250 thousand credit fine and five years in jail, that changes things.”

“Promote you to _editor_? No, no way.”

“Then I quit, and you're screwed. Bye Ignis-”

“Gladio.”

“-it really has been a slice of heaven,” he says, and walks away.

“Gladio!” A rough edge sneaks into Ignis’ voice. “Fine! Fine, I'll make you editor.”

A flicker of satisfaction sparks at those words - the ones Gladio’s worked so hard to hear - but he saves from relishing in it too soon and stops his retreat.

Ignis’ composure fixes back into place as if it never slipped and he tilts his chin, self-assuredly. “If you do the Cape Caem weekend and the immigration interview, I will make you editor. Happy?”

“Not in two years. Right away.”

“Fine.”

“And you'll publish my manuscript.”

Ignis glances away and hesitates. “Ten thousand copies first-”

“Twenty thousand copies, first run, and we'll tell my family about our engagement when I want and how I want. Now,” Gladio slides his hands into his pockets and grins, “ask me nicely.”

The cold green of Ignis’ eyes could cut diamond as he peers over the top of his glasses. "Ask you nicely, what?”

“Ask me nicely to marry you, Ignis.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You heard me,” says Gladio, and he bats his eyelashes sweetly. “On your knee.”

If there was only one good thing to come out of this it’s the amount of times he gets to see ‘I can talk my way into anything’ Ignis genuinely lost for words. His lips snap into a thin line. “Fine,” he says, and glances around them. 

A few passerbys shoot them a disapproving glare for blocking the path before hurrying on their way. Ignis grimaces and lowers himself to one knee. “Does this work for you?”

Gladio’s grin widens. “Oh, I like this.”

A girl across the plaza presses her hands to her mouth, a kid tugging his parent’s hand and pointing while several others openly stare. “All right.” Ignis sets his jaw before asking in the blandest tone, “Will you marry me?”

“No. Say it like you mean it.”

Not even the murderous glance Ignis shoots him dampens the amusement bubbling in Gladio’s chest. He rocks on his heels and waits.

“Gladio?”

“Yes, Ignis?”

Ignis clears his throat. “Sweet Gladiolus?”

“I'm listening.”

“Would you please, with cherries on top, marry me?”

Gladio pretends to think, savouring it. He always thought this moment would go differently - that he would be the one popping the question to whichever person had won his affection. It used to scare others how fast and hard he would fall, but Iris always assured him that was just because he hadn’t found the right one yet. It’s nice, being the one who’s romanced for once - even if it’s fake.

“Okay,” he says. “I don't appreciate the sarcasm, but I'll do it. See you at the airport tomorrow.”

Ignis sighs. “Good.”

Without offering a helping hand or a spare look back, Gladio leaves.

That night He unpacks his suitcase as many times as he fills it, wavering over his decision until he remembers he really did want to visit his family before the mess. With a finalized zip he packs away his worries and attempts to get some sleep.

He’s more or less successfully awake by the time they’re seated on the plane. The first class seats have enough room for his long legs and Gladio stretches as much as he can before the take off. When they’re in the air he flicks through the folder in his hands, wishing he’d accepted the stewardess’ offer of a drink as he scans the contents.

“So, these are the questions that INS is gonna ask us,” he says. “The good news is I know everything about you, but the bad news is that you have four days to learn all this about me so you should probably get studying.”

Ignis snatches the folder out of his hands and skims the list. “You know the answers to all these questions about me?”

“Scary, isn't it?”

Flipping a page, Ignis hums in disbelief. “What am I allergic to?”

“Pine nuts,” says Gladio, “and the full spectrum of human emotion.”

He shoots Gladio a look that could kill. “Amusing,” he says, and turns back to the folder. “Here's one. Do I have any scars?”

Pursing his lips, Gladio says, “I'm pretty sure that you have a tattoo.”

“Oh, you're pretty sure?”

“Pretty sure, yeah.” Gladio shifts back in his seat as Ignis pretends to be busy with the folder. “Two years ago, your dermatologist called and asked about a Q-switched laser, so of course I Moogled it and found that they do, in fact, remove tattoos-

“Ah.”

“-but you cancelled your appointment.”

Ignis’ lips thin to a fine line, and despite the rest of his neutral expression refusing to budge, Gladio knows he has him. Resting his elbow up on his tray, he props his chin in hand. “So what is it? Galahdian ink? Altissian calligraphy?” He waggles his eyebrows. “Barbed wire?”

“You know, it's _exciting_ for me to experience you like this.”

“You're gonna have to tell me where it is though-”

“No, I'm not-”

“-they're gonna ask.”

“-because we are done with that question. On to another, let’s see.” The faint pink tingeing Ignis’ cheeks is satisfying enough for Gladio to let it go… for now. “Oh, here's one. Whose place do we stay at, yours or mine? That's easy - mine.”

“And why wouldn't we stay at mine?”

“Because I live at Upper East Park, and you probably live at some squalid little studio apartment with stacks of yellowed Carbuncle Classics.”

The ding of the airline speakers interrupts Gladio from any retort. “Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts. We are beginning our descent into Lestallum.”

“Lestallum? I thought we were going to Caem.”

“We are,” says Gladio.

The look Ignis shoots him could curdle milk. “Well, how are we _getting_ to Caem?”

–

The plane shakes as it hits another pocket of air and Gladio grips the armrests. Luggage rattles overhead and beside him, Ignis shuts his eyes. They’re both crammed into the seats, passengers crowded around them with a tiny aisle in between. Gladio’s used to the discomfort and watching Ignis have to deal with his dislike of the public is entertainment enough for the short flight to Lucis’ southern edge.

The clouds outside the window break to reveal the familiar rolling landscape sprawled out below. The coast gleams in the distance, water sparking beneath the sunlight, and the mounting pressure of what they’re about to do sneaks up without warning. 

Home.

It’s all Gladio can do to not call it quits then and there. He closes his eyes, counting to ten and picturing the future so near in his grasp - a sleek editor’s office with his name on the plate, all the realities of his hard work paying off.

The runway rises up to meet them, tires skidding as the wind roars around them. They gradually slow to a crawl and as the small plane taxis into the airport, Gladio scans the crowd gathered at the outdoor fence.

He spots Regis first, waving a brightly decorated sign covered in glitter glue and looping letters belying Iris’ handiwork. Behind him towers his great uncle, a similar one in hand that reads ‘Welcome Home Gladio’ - though he doesn’t bother to do more than hold it plainly. There’s no one else with them and he suddenly wishes Iris had joined them, or anyone who knows how to act unembarrassing. For Ignis’ sake.

He wonders why he cares.

“All right,” he says with a sigh. “Here we go.”

He doesn’t wait for Ignis to follow him down the rickety staircase, instead heading straight for the waist high fence where his family stands waiting.

“Gladio!” Regis pulls him in for a full hug, never once bothering with half-hearted affection, not when they’ve known each other so long - longer than Gladio’s had the honor of calling him a father. “It's so good to see you!”

“You're suffocating him, Regis,” Ardyn drawls.

“Hey, Ardyn,” says Gladio, when he and Regis part. He glances around the crowd pointedly. “Where's Dad?”

Regis’ smile wilts. “Oh, you know your father. He's always working.”

“Never mind about him,” says Ardyn, peering over the tops of everyone’s heads. “Where's your boy?”

“He's…” Gladio searches, finding Ignis straightening out his full suit, “right there.”

Ardyn glances him up and down, lips curling in amusement. “I suppose the word ‘boy’ is inappropriate.”

With a sharp jab to his ribs, Regis turns to greet Ignis as they find their way around hellos. He makes the mistake of going in for another hug, Ignis’ proffered hand cutting him off in his tracks, but it does nothing to shake Regis’ welcoming greeting.

“Ignis, this is my step-dad Regis and my great uncle Ardyn.”

“Pleasure.”

“All mine, I assure you,” says Ardyn as he shakes his hand. “Now, do you prefer being called Ignis or Satan's Mistress? We've heard it both ways.” 

Stomach dropping, Gladio reaches out to grab Ardyn’s arm in warning and although Regis’ smile doesn’t slip, the glance he gives that warns of future death.

Ardyn pays them no mind. “Or rather, we've heard it lots of ways.”

Shock isn’t an expression Gladio finds familiar on Ignis, seemingly unsure with how to react. Their eyes meet and Gladio does his best to channel his apology. 

“He's kidding,” says Regis.

They all force a chuckle, though Ardyn makes no move to correct himself. 

Ignis offers a slight bow. “My gratitude for allowing me to be a part of this weekend.”

“No need for formality,” says Regis with a wave of his hand. “We're thrilled to have you. Now, let's get you two back to the fort.”

He grabs the handle of Ignis’ suitcase in one hand, looping one of his arms with the other to tug him along. Ignis shoots Gladio a pleading look, but doesn’t argue when Regis leads him away from the airport.

“You just couldn’t be normal for one minute could you,” says Gladio.

Ardyn claps him on the shoulder and brushes by with a wink. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

He sweeps along, coats whirling after him in a cloud of dark cloth, and Gladio rolls his eyes at the dramatics before following in step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of my favorite lines so far are in this chapter! Were there any parts that you really liked? I'd love to hear your thoughts down below!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/countpaperstars) | [writing blog](http://countingpaperstars.tumblr.com) | [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com)


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